Fluctuation
by rabid-squirrel777
Summary: What if Toby had kept his secret...for too long? First fanfic, please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

This is my first fanfic. The Listener is a great show, Craig Olejnik is amazing (yum ^^), and I am desperately trying to avoid researching an English paper. So, what better way to entertain myself? This is just my take on what would have happened if Toby had worked a little too hard to keep his secret. I hope you all enjoy reading, and reviews are greatly appreciated!

I do not own The Listener...

* * *

Toby dreamed often – too often for his own liking. He probably dreamed no more or less than the average person; the problem lay in the nature of the dreams. They pained him, taxed him to the point where sleep was no longer rest. They came on slowly, methodically, as if making their appearance too soon after sunset would defeat their purpose. In the end, Toby was never left with more than a cold sweat or, occasionally, a single image to remember them by. He had learned over the years to protect himself by never allowing sleep to claim him for more than five hours in a single night. It was only recently that those five had dwindled down to two.

"…not listening, are you?" Oz questioned from behind the wheel.

"What?"

"You zoned out on me again."

"Sorry, Oz. I was just…thinking," Toby shrugged.

"Don't you do enough of that? I mean come on, every time I look over you're all," he stopped abruptly to widen his eyes in an exaggerated stare.

Toby laughed it off and gestured to his friend to watch the road. Oz looked like he was going to say something else, but changed his mind and turned his eyes dejectedly back to the blacktop.

'_I just don't get it. He never tells me anything anymore.'_

Toby tried not to wince at his friend's unspoken frustration. The truth was he was having an exceptionally hard time "tuning out" lately. The slow expulsion of breath and clenching of his fists that had proven effective for years was barely doing a thing to calm the storm inside his head. "You watch the game last night?" he asked, hoping to lighten the mood. If Oz' thoughts were going to find a way into his head, he would rather they not be so…heavy.

"Nah, I hit the hay early – we've got a double today, you know."

"Yeah." Silence fell between them like a thick curtain. At least, it was silence for Oz. They had pulled to a stop at an especially crowded intersection, and Toby was willing the light to change. The guy in the crosswalk was deciding whether or not to spit out his gum, the woman two cars back was thinking about her terrier's separation anxiety, and the kid in the truck to the right was hoping he wouldn't be caught driving without a license. Within a few seconds, though, Toby could no longer distinguish between the voices. There were just too many, and they were getting louder. It took every ounce of control he had not to bury his head between his knees and shout. He involuntarily clutched at his seat. His body tensed and his eyes screwed shut. He tried to open them, but his brain was in crisis-mode. It was as if his mind reasoned that a decrease in visual input would somehow ease the pain. His heart rate was skyrocketing. He desperately tried to breathe normally, but his heart's frantic pace caused his body to scream for more oxygen. He gripped the upholstery tighter. He began to gasp, sucking air like the man with the collapsed lung he and Oz had just taken in. He could feel himself falling away.

A strong grip on his arm snapped him back and, instantly, the intruding thoughts vanished, leaving only the concerned voice of Oz. "Toby, man! Hey, you with me?"

Toby blinked lazily and tried to get his bearings. He was still feeling the intensity of the attack, and thrown off by the sudden quiet. He jerked his head back when Oz made use of his pen light to check his pupils. "Ah! Oz, stop, stop," he insisted, putting up his hands defensively, "I'm fine."

"The hell you are!" Oz cried, throwing himself against the back of his seat in exasperation. His concern was suddenly laced with anger. "You – you come to work every day lookin' like you haven't slept in weeks, you can barely lift the gurney, and now you're having seizures!"

"Oz, it wasn't a seizure – you know better than that."

"Then tell me, Toby, what the hell was it?"

"It was nothing, just a headache. Now, can we please get back on the road and do our jobs?"

"Fine, you know what? It's your life, man, but if you want us to stay partners, you've gotta get yourself checked out. I can't keep wondering if I'm gonna have to load _you _into the rig when we're on-call."

***

The pair was halfway through their second shift and had responded to what must have been a record number of calls. Most had been minor – brief fainting spells, mild concussions, and deceptively superficial lacerations – and resolved quickly. Toby was beyond exhausted, but grateful that no more uninvited secrets had found their way past his barriers. Though he hated to admit it, he was especially relieved at the lack of such from Oz. While they worked, the two only spoke out of necessity, neither willing to break the pall of tension their earlier confrontation had cast between them.

Things had been quiet for some time. Despite the veritable beating his body had taken throughout the day, Toby was beginning to get restless. He pondered opening up to catch a stray thought, just to give his mind something to chew on, but instantly chastised himself. He needed to _talk _to his friend. That and he couldn't trust his "gift" not render him senseless again the moment he gave it the chance. He pulled out of a slouch and cleared his throat. He looked over at Oz, whose thumb and forefinger were perched over his pursed lips as he drove, as if to emphasize his current aversion to verbal exchange. As far as he was concerned, the ball was in Toby's court. He had spent too many days lately ducking under the net to retrieve it and hit it again. His eyes darted for a spilt second in Toby's general direction, which Toby figured was as good an invitation as he was going to get.

"Oz?"

_'What now? Doesn't he get that he can't keep me in the dark like he does Liv? For God's sake, I'm his best friend!'_

_Damn it! _Toby nearly shouted. He took another cleansing breath, hoping to fortify his wall against his friend's sudden surge of emotion.

"Come on, Oz, say something."

"I already did. You need a repeat?" His sarcasm would have been laughable if not for the hurt in his voice.

Toby sighed loudly in resignation. "Alright, look," he paused, unsure of how to continue. "I – I'm remembering things."

"Things?" he questioned tentatively, "What kinds of things?"

"That's just it, I don't know." When Toby didn't continue, he expected to be prodded further. However, Oz knew his friend's past was a touchy subject, so he waited patiently. Toby let the helplessness he felt creep into his tone. "I can't piece it together – any of it. It's all just fragments." It was true, strange images he could only assume were bits of his distant past had been finding their way into his dreams of late. He wasn't about to volunteer any information about his…talents to his friend. He couldn't deal with that right now. Besides, he reasoned, lying by omission wasn't exactly lying…


	2. Chapter 2

I apologize for the shortness of this chapter, I just felt it was better set aside a bit. Please R&R! ^^

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Toby slipped through the doors of his darkened apartment, still in uniform. He had opted out of changing at work. By the time he and Oz had pulled into the garage after their last call, Toby could hardly move, let alone summon the energy to pull a shirt over his head. He considered spending what was left of his night enjoying a cold beer, but knew he would fall asleep standing up before the cap was even popped. He sunk into the couch – fully clothed, thirsty, and too tired to care – and floated into blackness.

If given the means, most people would probably use an ability like Toby's to manipulate others. They would twist their words and actions to achieve a desired effect, based solely on the thoughts of their unwitting puppets. Toby liked control; he was not naïve enough to claim otherwise. However, his view of it was entirely unconventional. His maintenance of control involved that of his own mind, not of others'. The ability to "tune out" was of utmost importance.

With the state of unconsciousness came a loss of control. Perhaps the thing that most terrified Toby about that loss was the fact that, in the midst of his nightmares, he was unaware of it. At least if he knew what had been taken from him, he could pour himself into reacquiring it. Instead, his only available option was to cower. In the night, every fear, no matter how irrational it seemed upon his awakening, was legitimate. _It's nothing to be afraid of. Just a dream. _He had said those words to himself many a time as the sunlight streamed through his window. But, when the moon possessed the sky, the words seemed to melt into nothing. Every night, he was chased. Every night, he ran.


	3. Chapter 3

Alrighty, so finally, chapter three is ready. It's not as long as I wanted it to be, nor as advancing to the plot, but I felt that some more time inside Toby's head wouldn't be such a bad thing. It may be a while before the next installment, but I promise I know where I'm going with this, so hang in there! Also, for all of you who think Craig/Toby is as sexy as I do, there's a little scene in here just for you :) Enjoy reading and, as always, reviews are greatly appreciated!

~RS aka Chelsea

* * *

Toby fully expected to feel the cool of the hardwood floor beneath his aching head, but was surprised to find himself still on the couch. The sensation of tumbling, the rush of the air on his skin, the roar in his ears, the pain and shock of the impact had all been so real. Taking a shaky breath, he hoisted himself onto his feet. He noted that his blood pressure didn't plummet quite as severely as it had been inclined to on previous mornings that week. _Interesting, _he thought, _no uninvited hits, a full night's sleep, and my brain actually rose with the sun. Maybe I'm acclimating?_ He had run this course before, but those changes had been different, when he was a boy – before he had taken control.

A cursory glance at the clock revealed his shift started in a little over two hours. That left him plenty of time to shower and eat, though he was far from hungry. As he shuffled to the bathroom, he pulled his uniform shirt over his head, noting with a wrinkling of his features that it was less than fresh. At least he'd had the presence of mind the night before last to run his other set through the wash.

He turned the water on, hot as he could stand, and slipped under the pelting surge. He could feel the wisps of steam caress him even before the heat of the water soaked through his hair. He inhaled slowly. The vapors were stifling and hitched his breath, but he relished the warmth they sent pouring into his chest. The liquid was making quick work of his tension and, for the first time in a long time, he allowed it. He tangled his fingers in his dark hair and tipped his head back into the stream, sighing deeply. He kept his eyes closed as dizziness swept over him. He welcomed it. For weeks, he had been so unwilling, so afraid, to give in to relaxation. It felt as if holding the wires of his mind taut was the only hope he had of staying sane. If he let them slip, let down his barriers just once, his world would dissolve. But the sensation of the water's droplets dancing around him, of its tendrils stretching down his back and chest, changed all that, if only for the moment. However short-lived the comfort, he knew it was at least a small step in the right direction.

As he dressed, he could feel the familiar hum return to his nerves, though not as insistent as it had been. He shifted his belted pants on his waist in frustration. Reluctantly, he pulled the leather tighter around his hips. He shook his head when the hole and crease that had been worn from months of use slid even farther away from the buckle.

He left his apartment hastily, uneasy contentment on his heels.

***

"You look better today," Oz commented while they stocked the rig, "headache gone?"

"Yeah, actually things have been pretty quiet."

"How do you mean?" Now Oz was giving him a strange look.

Toby kicked himself inwardly for his word choice and missed a beat before he responded. "My apartment," he replied hurriedly, "the tenants next door are pretty loud. They're out for the week, so I actually got some sleep last night."

"Oh. Well, good for you man." Oz turned back to his task. Toby wasn't sure his friend had accepted his explanation, but he couldn't bring himself to probe and find out. He brushed it off and placed the defibrillator back on its shelf. He remembered the day Ryder had given the two of them a twenty-three minute pep talk on the importance of checking the function of the defibrillator before pulling out of the garage. Of course, as experienced EMS technicians, they already knew the ins and outs of saving lives. Toby had figured his boss was just seeking a release for his fowl mood. Oz on the other hand had spent the rest of the shift panicked over Ryder's apparent questioning of their competence as a team.

"What's so funny?" Oz asked.

"Ah, nothing. Just remembered something."

"Oh." Oz suddenly turned serious. "_Oh, _was it about…?"

"No, no, nothing like that." Toby smiled and shook his head. His friend was still eyeing him. _That's Oz, always worrying about something. _"Hey, would you relax?" he chuckled. "Don't make me get the BP cuff."

Oz slugged him in the arm playfully and pulled back his hand, shaking it out. "Toby, you stop workin' out or something? I mean, I know I could stand to lose a few but, damn, that's like punching a tree trunk. Not that I've actually done that or anything, I'm just saying."

"Right, thanks Oz," Toby laughed and swung into the rig's passenger seat. No sooner did the engine roar to life before the got their first call. "Ten fifty-two, Millbrook and Percy." Oz flipped the lights and siren and sped off toward the scene. Toby tapped his seat. Adrenaline was preparing him, as it always did, for the task ahead.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hey all! I'm so sorry this took so long to get up - between work and school and my horse, things got pretty crazy. You have four solid days in the woods to thank for this chapter :) Thanks to everyone who has followed this story; please continue to review (it makes me write faster ^^).

* * *

A crowd had yet to gather. Ordinarily, that would have formed several questions in Toby's mind. However, considering the scene's location, it was wonder it had even been seen by the woman who reported it. The car was tucked away in an alley just off of a quiet, two-lane street. Toby and Oz had to carry their gear down to meet the scene, their rig too wide to chance the narrow space.

Toby pressed himself hard against the wall, but still managed to tear his uniform on the twisted metal of the sedan as he squeezed by. Tiny bits of gravel scraped beneath his shoes, the noise setting his already frayed nerves even more on edge. The metallic odor of blood was thick in the air. He felt the sting of bile at the back of his throat, a visceral response to what greeted him at the front of the car. He heard Oz suck in a breath. Swallowing thickly, he pulled himself out of his shock. He knew he should be taking a clinical approach, if only to keep his head straight, but this was bad.

Half of the car's hood had disappeared as if by some grotesque work of magic into the wall where the alley dead-ended. The other half was showered with shards of glass and all but consumed by bright, arterial blood. The passenger window fanned out into almost gossamer spider webs.

The windshield had been obliterated. To Toby's horror, the damage had not been caused by the impact, but rather by flesh. The passenger's mangled body lay sprawled, halfway out of the car, on the crumpled hood. One of his arms stretched outward, fingers curled sharply around air. Toby's eyes followed the rivulets of red to the source of the bleeding. A large, jagged piece of glass hand buried itself in the boy's neck, viciously slashing the jugular and giving him a crimson necktie.

Toby reached for an unmolested patch of skin, already knowing what he would – or wouldn't – find there. "Oz…he's gone."

"I've got a pulse here!"

Toby was at his partner's side within seconds. "What's her status?"

"Non-responsive, resps shallow at seven."

"Let's get a collar on her."

"Damn, I can't get in!"

"Here," Toby all but dove through the window and immobilized the woman's neck with practiced ease and gentle hands. He felt the soft puff of exhalation on his arm as it passed in front of her face. It nearly escaped his notice that her lips were taking on the appearance of a dead, barkless pine branch. His stethoscope confirmed his suspicion. "We need to get her out of here – now."

"She could have a spinal fracture!"

"She's hypoxic. She could die if we don't intubate!"

Oz took a moment to deliberate, his shuffling feet illustrating the difficult decision the pair was confronted with.

"Are you going to help me, or do I have to pull her out on my own?" Toby never wanted to fight with Oz, but this woman's life was at stake, and he wasn't trained to be indecisive.

Oz finally relented. "Ok."

***

Try as she might, Olivia knew she would never understand Toby's apparent obsession with the welfare of her patients beyond his responsibilities in the field. She was by no means accustomed to connecting personally with those she treated. Her skills lay almost entirely in her intellect and mental dexterity. It had been the same all through high school and college. All the same, Toby's undying tenderness was perhaps the main reason for her feelings for him. What exactly _did_ she feel?

"Liv?" Toby's tone reminded her of her failure to answer his earlier question. "Is she…?"

"No, no, she's fine. Well, not fine. She has a severe concussion, collapsed lung, and her right femur was crushed. We're stabilizing her as much as we can before we go in to repair the damage to her leg."

"How long until she can talk?" Now he sounded like Charlie.

"The surgery will take several hours, and she'll need to stay on the vent until we're sure her lungs can handle the strain…her husband arrived about an hour ago…"

"You told him?"

From the solemnity in his voice, she knew what he meant. "Yes…he knows." His eyes fell to studying the pattern of the tile. She hated seeing him like this. She reached out and pulled him close, as much for her own comfort as for his. He pressed his lips, soft and brief, to hers as they separated. He fingered the seam of her coat, tracing a spot of blood her could swear hadn't been there a moment ago. Olivia's delicate hands soon found the frayed cloth at his side and let out a slight gasp when her fingers came away wet.

"The car," he said simply.

She took his arm and ushered him into the nearest empty exam room. She shut the blinds, leaving the lights off so the room was cast into semidarkness. Toby moved to untuck his shirt, but she placed her hands over his, staying them. She gingerly drew the fabric from its place beneath his belt and set to work unfastening the buttons from the bottom up. When the last had been undone, she slipped her hands underneath, crawling up and over his shoulders and dropping the shirt to the floor. Despite the fire inside beckoning her to pull closer, she stepped back.

As her eyes sought the injury, they were halted by something she hadn't expected. It would not have been noticed by anyone else, but she had studied his body – perhaps more than even her own. There, nestled on each side of his otherwise chiseled torso, several ribs could be seen beneath his skin. Were they a bit more pronounced, Olivia imagined, they might have resembled prison bars stretched across his body. Worry etched her features, but the lines melted as his thumb brushed her chin and began stroking her cheek with the grace and fluidity of a butterfly's wing. Warmth flooded her. Her eyelids fell and she leaned, ever so slightly, into the touch. They stayed that way for a time, until a clanging in the hall broke the peace of the moment.

In an instant, they each returned to themselves. She set to work cleaning, stitching, and bandaging his wound, careful to adjust her movements to follow each breath he took. When the last piece of tape was secured, Olivia returned to her rounds.

Toby knew he should get back to Oz and his shift, but instead he stood quietly outside the MVA victim's room. It disheartened him to know she would be unable to speak for some time. He _needed _to know how a mother and her son ended up driving down a deserted alleyway and straight into a wall. As a result, he soon found himself longing to hear more than the slow, methodical whoosh of the ventilator.

He spent a good three minutes working to compartmentalize his own thoughts, keeping them as safe as he could from the potential stampede he was about to unleash. He then concentrated on locating the door to her mind – hers, and no one else's. It was as delicate and difficult a task as moving one's little toe independently of all the others. When he was a comfortable with the results as he could get, he opened up, just a crack.

_Flash. Driving, knuckles white on the wheel. 'What am I going to do?'_

_Flash. Slowing to turn down the alley. 'I can't live like this.'_

_Flash. Look over at the boy. He is screaming, clutching the seat. Turn back. A wall rushing up to meet the dash. A sickening crunch. Pain, such pain. Darkness._

Toby pulled out, gasping. His heart twisted in his chest, sinking under the weight of what he had just witnessed.


End file.
